From the Heart of Helga- Re-uploaded
by xblackrosefirex
Summary: Meet Helga Pataki, the fourth grade bully. The sole tormentor of our favorite football head shaped kid. The ring leader of the fourth grade girls. Now, meet Helga Pataki, the angry little girl in desperate need of real love and attention, and how Arnold is the only thing that keeps her grounded. Rated K-T, but M because Miriam is an alcoholic, just to be safe.


Hello, everyone. This is my newest Hey Arnold story, and this time, it's with Helga. She was rather difficult to write about, but this is what I've come up with.

Summary: Meet Helga Pataki, the fourth grade bully. The sole tormentor of our favorite football head shaped kid. The ring leader of the fourth grade girls. Now, meet Helga Pataki, the angry little girl in desperate need of real love and attention, and how Arnold is the only thing that keeps her grounded.

Rating: K-T, and M due to Miriam being an alcoholic

I put the straw to my lips, a smirk dancing across my face. I had spotted my target, all I had to do was take aim, ready, and fire!

My wet spitball slapped against the back of that stupid foot-ball head's face. He must have felt its slimy texture, because he turned around and glared at me.

I pretended that I didn't know why he was looking at me. I glared right back, and mouthed the words, "What, foot-ball head?" He shook his head and went right back to taking notes on what Mr. Simmonds was teaching us.

I gazed up at the clock, absentmindedly marking nonsensical doodles in my notebook. Only ten more minutes of this to go. I sure hope Simmonds doesn't keep us after so we can talk about how special we all are and all of that other crap.

The shriek of the bell rang through my ears. Finally! I jumped up from my seat and ran out the door, pushing Arnold out of my way in the process.

As I sat on the bus, I listened to my best friend Phoebe talk about how she was excited for our history test coming up next week, and that she was going to spend this entire weekend studying.

Phoebe has been my best friends since I can remember. Our folks would set up play-dates when were younger. We've been friends ever since.

I leaned back in my seat, rolling my eyes.

"Whatever," I snorted, "I'm going home to watch wrestle mania."

The bus stopped across the street from my house. I scowled as I looked at the front door. I always hated coming here.

I opened the front door, curtly announcing that I was home. But, no one answered. Nobody ever did.

I walked into the kitchen to grab myself a soda, and sure enough, there was Miriam, passed out on the table.

After grabbing the soda, I ran up to my room, threw down my notebooks, and flopped onto my pink bed. I didn't even bother to blink an eye at this typical behavior of Miriam's. It was like this every day.

In fact, this was the only life I ever knew. My name, not that it's of any real importance, is Helga Pataki. I was born on March 29, and for as long as I can remember, I've always had to fend for myself. There was nobody to help me with my homework. There was nobody to greet me when I came home from school. There was nobody to say how smart I was, or how much they loved me. I may live with my parents, but I was completely alone.

My family was a broken one, and there I was nothing I could do to fix it. We appeared to be a complete family. To the outside world, that was true. I had a dad, a mom, and a sister. But on the inside, there was a different story.

There's my blow-hard dad, Big Bob. The owner of a rapidly growing beeper company, Bob was a complete workaholic. He would spend hours and hours over at the beeper emporium, sometimes not coming home until the next day. When he was home, it was a total nightmare. I would often run up to my room and turn up my stereo as he would yell at Miriam for one thing or another. When he wasn't yelling, he was either watching TV or complaining about some stupid thing.

Big Bob was my father, but he wasn't a father figure. We didn't even really relate, but when we did, it was almost always because Bob wanted something from me. In truth, there were many times when I found it almost impossible to call him my dad. I mean, what kind of a father spends half his time yelling at his wife in front of his own kids? What kind of a father spends more time at work than with his daughter? What kind a father not only forgets how old I am, but what my name is? I don't even remember the last time I spent time with him.

Then there's Miriam, my oh so loving mother. It's true that Miriam didn't yell, or scream or shout. But, she didn't do anything either. Everyday I would come home to find her passed out somewhere, and I could smell the strong hint of booze on her breathe.

I may be nine, but I'm not stupid. Miriam could hide the alcohol wherever she wanted. She could pretend that she was "just so tired," but I knew the truth. I knew that Miriam was an alcoholic. Bob never said anything about it, he was too wrapped up in his business to even give a darn.

Out of both my parents, I think the one I often despised the most was my mom. Bob had never, for as long as I can remember, been one for affection. When that lack of love and constant neglect came from my own mother, it hurt. I would never let it show though. The pain I felt was often masked with sarcastic and rude remarks.

What kind of a mother forgets to pack her own kids lunch? What kind of a mother is constantly passed out because she's too into herself to fix her own problems?

My mother that's who. I would love to have a mom who actually took interest in my life. A mom who spent time with me, and a mom who actually showed that she gave a damn. Instead, I have Miriam. And when it comes to Miriam, anything short of giving a damn is just way too hard.

And then there was Olga, my sweet, loving, and ever so perfect sister. Excuse me, but I think I just barfed a little bit.

Olga was about nine years older than I was. We may have been sisters, but we were never close. In fact, the only time I liked Olga was when she wasn't around.

Just like I could barely stand my parents, I could barely stand Olga. When she came home, it was a total nightmare. When she came home, I was forgotten about even more than when she wasn't around. The way she would prance around the house like Mary Sunshine made me want to gag. And not that she ever cared, but I don't give a crap about how she played Beethoven's Fifth at Carnegie Hall. I've heard that stupid story a million times.

But the one thing I really resented Olga for, was the fact that she took up my parent's attention. Yes, they ignored me when she wasn't around, but when she was, it got even worse. Whatever shed of existence I had would vanish the second my older sister walked through the door. The worst part of it all was how she always tried to spend time with me, and how she wanted nothing more than to be as close as possible. That was the last thing I wanted. Olga never tried to understand me. Never even once did she try to get to know me. She calls me by how she knows me, "baby sister," but she doesn't realize who I really am. I mean, criminy! How the heck am I supposed to get close to a sister that stole our parents attention, spent every waking moment bragging about everything that she does, and doesn't know anything about me because she doesn't even try? Why would I even want to?

Nobody in my family ever listens to me. They don't even know I exist. For what it's worth even mentioning, I might as well be invisible.

I was born into a family that had numerous problems, and their biggest weakness, as well as their largest defense, was to turn a blind eye to everything. To Bob, everything was great because he was Bob Pataki. To Miriam, everything seemed hopeless and depressing, and to Olga, everything was wonderful and optimistic.

What's more, I was the wakeup call that they refused to acknowledge. I was the only one who could see just how messed up everything was. To be honest, there were times when I wish that I had never been born. Knowing that I could never have at least that much, I decided to settle for the next best thing:

I wanted to leave, and when I was old enough, I would. I already had everything planned out: the day I turned 18 would be the day that I packed my bags, walked out that door and never looked back. I had already started saving money since I was five, and had about $300 so far. It was a nice amount, but not enough for a plane ticket or even rent.

But when I did have the money, I was out of here. I wouldn't even tell my family that I was leaving, or where I was even going.

Knowing them, they probably wouldn't even notice that I was gone. They'd be too wrapped up in each other to notice anything.

However, despite my bitterness and anger, there is only one person that can ever truly make me feel alive, just one person who could ever make me truly smile.

What I'm about to tell you is my deepest darkest secret. I've already said stuff that not even my best friend knows, so hey. Might as well go all the way.

But if you tell anyone, if you so much as even begin to breathe this secret from out of your mouth, I swear I'll take your lounge, rip it out, and then wrap it around your throat.

There is a boy that I love very much, a certain football-headed shaped boy named Arnold.

I first met Arnold when I was three years old. I had just walked to school in the pouring rain, because Bob was too engrossed in Olga to even bother.

When I got to the school, I was soaking wet. My clothes were muddy, and my lunch, which I had taught myself to make the day before, had been stolen by a dog.

I felt like I was going to cry. Nothing was going right that day, and I felt so alone.

Then, the rain stopped, or rather, a bright flash of yellow caught my eye. It was that kid with the weird shaped head. He had noticed me in my distress, and offered me shelter through his umbrella. He told me he liked my bow, and we both walked into the school.

It was that very day that I fell madly in love with Arnold. He was one of the only people that ever showed me any amount of kindness, and what's more, he acknowledged my existence. I was not about to let that go un-noticed.

Arnold and I would sometimes talk, but very little. He usually offered me half of his sandwich, when he knew that I had nothing to eat around lunch time. My love for him grew stronger, until I finally decided that I needed to have a piece of him with me. I ended up stealing his picture on the wall of our pre-school classroom, and taped it to a metal heart shaped box. I carried that heart with me everywhere, often ducking behind walls, cars and trashcans, where I would profess my undying love for Arnold.

Eventually, my love for him grew even stronger. I had several diaries, each one with a poem dedicated to Arnold. I even had a shrine built in his image in the back of my closet, where I would go into every night and talk to that shrine, and say to it what I could never say to the real Arnold.

I would even buy bridal magazines, and go through images of married couples (1). When I found one I liked, I would cut out the faces of me and Arnold, and tape them onto the bride and groom in the photos. So far, I had done this to 50 magazines. I would sometimes even act out the day where Arnold asked me to be his bride: he would address me with the words angel, and my one true love. He would then present me with a fabulous diamond ring, and I would swoon right then and there into his arms with a breathless yes.

But, these were all dreams of mine, and that's all they would ever be.

You see, Arnold doesn't know how I truly feel for him. He knows me as the girl who calls him Foot-ball Head, Paste for Brains, Arnoldo, and as the girl who taunts him whenever he's up to bat when playing baseball. He knows me as the girl who goes out of her way to make his day suck just a little bit.

He doesn't know the real me. He doesn't know that deep down, I admire Arnold, and everything else about him. He doesn't know that I'm his guardian angel, the one who looks after him.

I remember this one time where Wolfgang threatened to beat up Arnold. When I heard about it, I was scared. And then, fear turned to anger. There was no way I was going to let that fifth grade buffoon hurt my Arnold.

So, I struck a deal with Wolfgang. In exchange for him not beating up Arnold, I would do all of his homework, in every class for a month (2). It was a grueling nightmare, but I pulled it off. What's even more important, was that Arnold was safe.

But, Arnold would never know what I had did, nor would he ever know my true self. And as long as I could help it, that was the way I wanted it. I could never, and would never tell Arnold that I loved him.

It's not that I think he would be mean about it. I mean, come on! It's Arnold The word "mean" is NOT in that boy's vocabulary. Even when he was generally annoyed with someone, he was still the nicest person you would ever met. Heck, there were times when he even tried to make peace with Wolfgang, which, I have to admit, was impressive. Suicidal, but impressive.

Oh, and stupid. Very stupid. Wolfgang didn't make peace, he made deals. Sometimes he honored them, but 98% of the time he didn't.

No, it's not that I think Arnold would be mean about it. My biggest fear wasn't telling him how I felt, but the look of rejection on his face if I ever did.

After all, how could Arnold love someone like me? All I've ever done was torture the poor kid. Arnold was nice to me, but in all honesty, he wanted nothing to do with me. I don't blame him, though.

I could already picture it in my head. He would say thank you, and that he was flattered; the two things that I knew would lead to disaster. And then, he'd just right out and say it: But Helga, I'm sorry, but I don't love you." The next words he would never ever say: I could never love someone like you.

So I continued to torture Arnold, fearing that if I was nice, then he'd catch on my secret. And for as long as I lived, I could not let that happen. I continued to tease and laugh at the misery that I caused him.

In reality, that wasn't the case. Every time I caused Arnold any type of pain, I was beating myself up on the inside. I would often make vows to try and be a little nicer to Arnold, but I always failed. My secret was far too dark to even let out half a clue to Arnold.

Despite that, I still continued to watch over Arnold. I would still spy on him, follow him around the city in secret. I would sneak up behind him and snip off small amounts of his golden hair. I would reach into trash cans and pick out a candy wrapped or a soda can that he had thrown away. I would take these items home with me, and add them to my Arnold collection.

But, that wasn't the farthest I've gone in my dedication and love for Arnold. No, I've gone much farther than that.

You see, Arnold once had a crush on this brace face named Ruth. When he found out that it would never work, his newest crush became the disgustingly perfect Lila. Both these bimbos were different, but they had one thing in common: Arnold's affections. That, and the fact that to me, they were threats to my love for Arnold.

So, whenever I saw Arnold and Lila hanging out, I felt sick. Sick with sadness, sick with anger, and sick with disgust. Whenever I saw them talking to each other, with Arnold laughing at some stupid joke that Lila had told him, I would think that I should be the one talking to Arnold, and that he should be the one laughing at my stupid joke.

Every time I saw Arnold and Lila hanging out and having fun, I would do everything in my power to wreck that fun. It didn't even have to be Lila. Any girl I saw him being happy with, that girl became a target for my evil schemes, because in those moments with Arnold, she had what I craved, but could never be mine: Arnold's affections.

For you see, I was very protective of Arnold. I truly believed that I was the only one worthy of him (despite my fears of rejection). If I couldn't have him, no one else would. (2)

Arnold was the only thing that kept me grounded, the only person that made me believe that I could do anything. I couldn't imagine my life without him. And even if the dreams that I had could never come true, they were all I had of Arnold. They were the only things that I had. And when I woke up, everything was as the way it was before I fell asleep. When I looked in the mirror while getting dressed, I wasn't 25. The boy I loved wasn't by my side. There were no smiling faces, no whispers of adoration, and there was no wedding dress.

I was simply Helga, once again, and that killed me. If I could turn back time, and erase all of the mean and hurtful things I have done and said to Arnold, to make my dreams of becoming his forever even just a small part of reality, I would.

I rolled over on my bed, and let out a sigh. Looking outside my window, I was surprised to see how dark it had gotten. I could hear the TV blaring from all the way of up here. That only meant one thing: Bob was home.

Looking over at my nightstand, I reached for my phone and dialed Dr. Bliss's number. Although we didn't do actual therapy sessions, she allowed me to call her whenever I needed to talk.

I waited, listening to the phone ring, and then, she answered.

"Hi, Dr. Bliss," I answered, "It's me Helga. Hey uh, listen. I need to talk to you. I know it's late, but it's important. It's about Arnold."

So, there's my Helga story. Next up is Arnold.

Now, for the notes:

1) This just sounds like something Helga would do.

2) We all know that Helga loves Arnold. From the very first episode, we all saw how she felt about him.

Honestly though, when it comes to her love for Arnold, Helga can be quite scary. The lengths she will go to, in order to make sure that Arnold never finds out her secret are extreme (and rather hilarious, really). Furthermore, she is very protective of her secret, going as far as to threaten those she admits her secret to with death if they ever tell Arnold.

I think the reason why Helga doesn't want Arnold to know, is because she is afraid of his rejection. Because she hasn't treated him very nicely, she doesn't believe that he would ever return her love. So, she comes up with scenarios that, ,in her mind, would never happen. It's in Helga's imagination that Arnold is hers, but it's reality that she feels would never exist.

Even though Helga could move on, it's obvious she doesn't want to. She more than just loves Arnold, and I think that it is her intense feelings for him that keeps her going. Her family life is far from ideal: she has a father who is a complete workaholic, a mom who's severely depressed and an alcoholic, and a sister that just doesn't get it. I uploaded a story about Miriam feeling stuck, and I think Helga feels the same way, but obviously the situation between Miriam and Helga is way different. However, like Miriam, I believe that if Helga could leave and start a new life, she would.

Ok, next up is Arnold. I have a feeling he is going to be the hardest, so if anyone has any ideas, you can let me know in your reviews, or you can PM me.


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